Unattached Drifter Christmas  A Blizzard is
by a.lakewood
Summary: The boys get snowed in. Valentine's Day WINCEST PWP. Kind of – there's a teeny bit of plot here.


**Title:** Unattached Drifter Christmas (A Blizzard is a Boy's Best Friend)  
><strong>Author:<strong> alakewood  
><strong>Warning: <strong> Wincest. PWP. Dirty-talk.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong> ~2700  
><strong>Summary:<strong> V alentine's Day Wincest PWP. Kind of – there's a teeny bit of plot here.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

The snow is still coming down heavily in large, fluffy flakes that are swiped away by the wiper blades before they even have the chance to melt against the glass of the windshield when Dean finally assents that yeah, maybe they _should_ pull off and find a motel. It's been snowing steadily since they crossed the Illinois state line into Iowa, a good six inches already on the ground and more accumulating. It's fairly typical weather for this part of the country for this time of year and Sam tried to warn Dean against it, but as usual, Dean's doing what Dean wants to do.

"I think there was a sign a couple miles back," Sam says, shifting in his seat to peer out into the blankness beyond the slushy stretch of ever-narrowing highway in front of them. It's hard to pick out the mile-markers and other signs off the shoulder because the snow is starting to stick to those, too. However, Sam does manage to catch sight of a sliver of dark blue showing at the top of another sign, "LODGING – EXIT 53" barely visible. "Take the next exit."

Dean mocks him silently from the driver's seat, slowing the car and watching carefully for the off ramp. It's getting later in the afternoon but the sun's not quite near setting, yet Dean flips on the brights anyway in the hopes that whatever light cuts through the snow will bounce off the reflectors along the right shoulder to keep them on the road. The red of the stop sign at the intersection is obvious through the thin layer of snow sticking to it, but the other square sign is completely covered. "Left or right, Sammy?"

Sam glances up and down the cross-road but doesn't have the slightest clue which direction to go in. "I dunno. Wait here." He shoves open his door, frigid air stealing his breath almost at once, and slips on the icy pavement as soon as both feet make contact. Dean's snickering filters out through the gap of the open door and Sam salutes him with one raised middle finger. He tromps through calf-deep snow towards the sign and swipes his jacket-covered forearm over the sign: there's a rectangular piece of metal riveted to the larger sign with a stylized "Pharaoh-way Inn" emblazoned across it, the I in Inn shaped like an ankh. "Really?" he questions aloud. It's like they're fated to never stay in a themeless motel. There's a slight incline to get back up to the road and Sam takes his time to spare himself more of his brother's mockery.

"Shoes," Dean says when Sam pulls the door open all the way.

"I know." Sam sits on the edge of the seat and knocks his feet together to loosen the snow that's crusted to his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans. He turns and shifts his legs into the car, closing the door. "Looks like it's a left."

"Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious," Dean snarks as he puts the car back into drive, tires slipping in the slush before finding traction and lurching them out into the roadway.

Sam has to hold back from reaching across the short distance between them to thump Dean on the back of the head. He hopes to God for the first time in a while that there's a bar within reasonable distance from the motel because he can _not_ stand being forced to share such narrow spaces with his brother for much longer. There's only so much Dean he can take and he's fast approaching his limit. But, again, fate is working against him – they almost pass the motel because the snow is falling heavily, in near-white-out conditions, but Dean fishtails into the parking lot, swerving to a stop in one of the few open spaces in the whole lot in front of the office door – because there's no other building in his very limited sight.

"I'll go see about a room," Dean says, digging for his wallet and thumbing through his credit cards to find the one that matches his current ID. "Be right back."

Sam nods, watches Dean leave and ejects the tape in the deck in favor of finding a weather report on the radio. It looks like they're in for another three-to-five inches of snow overnight with a winter weather advisory that doesn't expire until tomorrow night. Isn't this just perfect? It's exactly how he _doesn't_ want to spend Dean's favorite holiday of Unattached Drifter Christmas, otherwise known as Valentine's Day to the rest of the world.

"Jesus fuck," Dean spits out, all but throwing himself back into the car when he returns. "It's fuckin' cold out there. Christ." He tosses the room key – which is attached to a pyramid-shaped key chain – into Sam's lap. "Last room. And you better keep your spider monkey arms to yourself."

"What?"

Dean ignores him, focusing on backing up from the motel office to make his way down to the far end of the long stretch of the one-story motel. He parks again and turns back the key in the ignition, heat and quiet news report fading to chilly silence. "C'mon, Sammy." He climbs back out and rounds to the trunk to grab their duffels before meeting Sam at the door.

Sam's pushes open the door marked "20" beneath a fading Eye of Horus symbol painted in gold and takes in the décor first – the peeling hieroglyphic-patterned wallpaper, the plaster mask of Nefertiti hanging on the wall above the TV, the statues of Osiris and Isis on the dresser. The chair backs and the headboard of the king-sized bed are both made of woven reeds. Sam's pretty sure that's more a stylized take on the Egyptian theme than something that would actually be found there, but the realism of the furnishings isn't the thing that's got his attention at the moment. No, that's the bed. The _one_ bed. He turns to Dean as his brother closes the door behind himself and holds out a loose fist. "On three," he says.

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"For the bed." Sam shakes his fist.

"What?" Dean repeats, pitch a little higher. "No way. It's way too fucking cold to be sleeping on the floor. We can share. I promise I won't bite. Unless you ask really, really nicely." He offers a shark-toothed grin at that.

Sam remembers, hazily, the last time they shared a bed a good five months ago when they'd woken up tangled in each other after a long night of cold longnecks and shots of Jack, Dean's chapped lips and humid breath against his neck and his brother's morning wood digging into the valley of his hip bone as Dean slowly rocked against him. Dean's hand had found Sam's own erection, palming it, fingers curling around the hardness best they could through the thin cotton of Sam's boxer-briefs with just enough pressure to make him come. Dean had followed behind moments later spilling warm and damp inside his own underwear. There's been an unspoken agreement between them to never speak of it ever again. And this sharing a bed thing seems like it might be in some kind of violation of that agreement. "Whatever," Sam grumbles, moving further into the room.

"Guy in the office said there's a gas station across the street, only other place that's still open. I'm gonna trek on over and grab us some food. Any snack preferences?"

"No."

"You better check your attitude, little brother." He swipes the room key off the top of the TV and backs away from Sam, pointing at him with the pyramid. "I mean it."

Sam waits until he's sure Dean isn't coming back for something he left behind and kicks off his boots before stripping out of his wet jeans and digging a pair of sweats out of his duffel. He picks up the remote from the nightstand and flips on the TV as he sits on the foot of the bed. The Weather Channel is showing the local Doppler to the tune of some light jazz, a mass of white and pink spanning from well up into Minnesota all the way down to central Missouri and east to the Illinois-Indiana state line, random patches of clear sky scattered over the area. There's no doubt that they're getting snowed in.

Dean returns some thirty minutes later with a dripping plastic bag that he settles carefully on the table inside the door.

"Looks like more than snacks."

"Yeah, well, dude at the gas station said it might be a while before the roads are cleared." He shoulders out of his jacket before he pulls a bottle of whiskey out of the bag and ducks into the bathroom for the cheap plastic cups that are on the sink. He fills one halfway for Sam and hands it over before filling his own. After fiddling with the thermostat to crank the heat a little more, he sits on the edge of one of the chairs and pulls off his boots, shucks his pants like Sam's not sitting right there, and grabs the bag to move over to the bed to settle beside Sam on the mattress. He sets the bag on the floor near Sam's feet and takes a healthy swig from his cup. "What're we watching?"

"_Raiders of the Lost Ark_?"

"Love me some Indy." He knocks his elbow into Sam's and doesn't move away.

Sam's not exactly uncomfortable with Dean's proximity, but it does make him anxious. Make that _really_ anxious. He can feel the heat of Dean's skin through the flimsy, worn fabric of his sweatpants like there's no barrier between them. It's distracting to say the least.

After a couple of minutes, Dean bends over to rifle through the bag, producing a package of heart-shaped Hostess cakes. "Happy V Day, Sammy," he says with a cheeky grin, dropping the snacks into Sam's lap.

"Uh, thanks. I wasn't aware we were, um, exchanging gifts." He attempts a raised brow at Dean but the expression on his face falters at the look in Dean's moss-green eyes.

"I'm sure you can think of _something_ to give me."

Sam shifts on the mattress, turning so they're facing each other more. "Dean."

"What?" he asks exasperatedly. "Don't tell me you don't think about it, that you don't want it as much as I do."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because we're brothers, Dean. We-"

"Do you want it?"

"Dean, it's not-"

"Do. You. Want it? It's that simple."

"It's not."

"It really is. You want me or not?" Dean moves so he's mirroring Sam with one leg hiked up onto the bed. "It's a yes or no answer, Sam."

Sam feels the weight and heat Dean's gaze on him, can't meet his eyes. "I think you know I do."

"Then what's the problem? You afraid of what people will say? It's not like they don't already think it when they see us. It's just you and me, Sam. That's all that matters. Who cares what anybody else thinks?"

"I know. I _know._ I just..."

Dean takes Sam's empty glass and slots it inside of his own, dropping them and the snack cakes into the bag at the foot of the bed before getting his other leg up on the mattress, settling on his knees next to Sam. He leans forward without hesitation and covers Sam's mouth with his own. "God, Sam," he breathes against his brother's lips as he pushes Sam down onto his back and straddles his hips.

Time seems to slow to a crawl, the only thing Sam's aware of is the weight of Dean's body above him and the heat of his mouth as he breaks the kiss to trail sharp little bites down his neck. His hands find Dean's ass, muscles firm beneath his fingers, and he holds his brother steady as he grinds their hips together. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Dean whispers hotly against Sam's throat. "Gonna fuck me, Sam? Hmm? Split me wide open on your dick?"

"Shit." He gets both arms wrapped around Dean and manages to lever himself up, Dean clutched close to his chest, and get turned around. He drops Dean back onto the bed and manhandles him further up the mattress. The shirts Dean's wearing both come off with a few good tugs then Sam's pulling his own tees off over his head and wriggling out of his sweats and underwear.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean says and bites his lip, eyes focused on Sam's flushed cock with absolute single-mindedness. Unexpectedly, he flips their positions again and climbs back on top of Sam, sliding down his body to swallow his dick down.

"Holy mother of-" Sam grits out, arching off the bed and making Dean choke on his dick. He cradles Dean's head in his hands and tries to restrain himself. "Oh, fuck."

Dean sucks and swallows, hums around the head of Sam's beautifully proportionate cock. He can tell Sam's on the edge, can feel it in the way Sam's body trembles beneath him. Pulling off with a last flick of his tongue to Sam's slit, Dean shucks his own underwear and moves back up Sam's body, settling his knees on either side of Sam's waist and raising himself up enough to reach behind himself and grab Sam's dick.

"What are you-" The head of his cock slips into Dean's body one slick inch and, "Holy shit, Dean."

"Thought you'd like that," Dean says on an exhale as he sinks all the way down until his ass is flush with Sam's pelvis. He works his hips in a slow circle, flexing his muscles around Sam's dick as he rises.

"Yeah. It's fuckin' great." The rhythm Dean starts is slow and Sam knows he can't last much longer. He grabs Dean's hips and thrusts up to meet him, changing the pace.

"C'mon, Sammy. Yeah. Yeah, just like that."

"Dean." He's close. So close. He wraps a hand around Dean's dripping cock and fists him with twist of his wrist and a swipe of his thumb against that little bundle of nerves on the underside of the head on the upstroke.

Dean rides Sam harder, feels the burn in his thighs as he slams himself back down. He's going to come soon. But not before Sam. "You close, Sammy? You gonna come for me?"

"Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah."

"C'mon, Sam. Wanna feel you come inside me, feel you fill me up."

"Oh, shit." Just the thought is enough to send him over the edge and he pulses long and hard into Dean, filling him just like he wants.

Beneath him, Sam tenses, head thrown back to show off the marked-up stretch of his throat. Sam's hand on his dick falters mid-stroke as the other on his hip grips tighter, but he recovers a moment later, tugging at Dean's throbbing cock. "Sam. Just, yeah. Yeah, like that." Without warning, he comes all over Sam's hand and belly in thick white stripes. Sam pulls him down with the fingers of his clean hand tangled in Dean's hair and kisses him hard and wet, all tongue and teeth.

Sam shifts onto his side, feels softening dick slipping free of Dean's hole as they move together. "God. That was..."

"Mm," Dean hums in agreement. "Happy Valentine's Day, honey." He snuggles closer to Sam's body and nips at the underside of his jaw when Sam chuckles at him and swats at the arm he's got slung over Sam's chest.

It takes a little bit of maneuvering to get them both under the blankets, but Sam manages and pulls Dean in for another kiss, sucking on his tongue and catching his plump bottom with his teeth as he backs off. "Might have to make it a point to get caught in blizzards more often."

Dean can't help but laugh at that. He couldn't agree more.


End file.
